


Ribs,, Lorde

by One_tired_boi



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Drugs, Las Vegas, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, The Goldfinch, bad life choices, boreo, drunk teens, mmm yummy cocaine, these bitches gay, this is basically fluff, wow consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_tired_boi/pseuds/One_tired_boi
Summary: Theo gets a little too drunk and Boris had to take care of himWarning for mentions of suicidal thoughts
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	Ribs,, Lorde

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm almost done the book and I couldn't stop thinking about when Boris comes back to NY and tells Theo how he's a black out drunk and how he told Boris practically everything. What a lad
> 
> here's my take on that,, enjoy!! <3

If the neighbors would’ve looked outside they would’ve seen the sad sight of Theo Decker sprawled across the concrete road, begging for death. The only problem was it was 3 am, and there were no neighbors on the whole damn street. 

“Just let me stay here,” Theo slurred his words as he spoke in slow sentences. He was lying in the middle of the deserted street, waiting to be struck by a car that would never come. 

“C’mon Potter, I don’t have all night,” Boris responded. The moonlight was bright, which made his pounding headache 10x worse. It was bad enough that Theo had insisted they’d finish his dad’s vodka. He was already so drunk that he forgot to refill it with water. 

“Just let me die,” he pleaded from the ground. Next to him was a pile of his own vomit, courtesy of the four hours of shots, cocaine, and Vicodin they’d taken. It was a miracle they weren’t dead. 

To Theo the moon was different. His mom had told him once to follow the moon, which he most certainly did by meeting Boris. The only difference was Boris was not nearly as elegant as the gentle rock above him. 

Boris nudged Theo with his shoe, slightly annoyed at his eagerness to die. This had happened every time they’d gotten too drunk. Theo always ended up begging Boris to leave him- to just let him be. Boris got drunk to feel alive. Theo got drunk to feel numb. 

“I’m getting tired of this,” his concoction of an accent rang in Theo’s ears. 

“I just want to see my mom again, don’t you understand?” Theo’s words were almost slurred beyond comprehension, but even if they were Boris would know what he’d said. He says the same thing every time. 

Boris could never tell Theo this. He’d get drunk and forget everything until the next day at school when the blaring sound of a teacher’s voice sobered him up to a headache beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Theo was always like this, always drunk in some way, and always asking to die- or to put him out of his misery. 

“Please Boris, just end me.” He was crying now, and Boris was fearful he’d throw up again. This was the not so fun part of getting absolutely wasted. 

Boris finally had enough. “Get up,” he breathed while picking up his younger friend. His scrawny arms barely got the job done, but soon enough Theo was being dragged into the house. 

“It’s cold in here,” was all he could manage to say. Boris dropped him on the floor, slowly making his way to the bathroom to turn on the tub. 

“Let’s go, Potter,” he announced, once again dragging his friend. This time he picked him up and kinda dropped him into the tub, as he usually did. 

They were camping out in Boris’ house tonight, surprisingly enough. His dad was at some business meeting, involving the mysterious death of three employees, and would be gone for the week. It wasn’t like Theo’s dad would care that they were gone anyways. 

“That’s it,” Boris encouraged his friend as he took off his sticky shirt. He couldn’t tell if he’d spilled vodka on it or if he was drenched in sweat, but he didn’t want to find out. 

Boris started washing Theo’s shaggy hair, slowly getting all the sand and grime out of it. Theo was dazed, barely aware that anything was happening at all. Next Boris made Theo wash himself, because if Boris even tried to double over that much to help him he probably would’ve vomited too. 

“Is it safe?” Theo mumbled. 

“Yes, you’re safe here Potter,” Boris said nonchalantly in response. 

“The painting-” Theo turned to face Boris now, “is the painting safe?” 

“Sure,” Boris answered. He knew Theo talked about the painting almost every night, even though he thought he hadn’t ever spoken of it. He talked about its beauty and its power and its deeper life meaning and whatnot. Boris usually ignored him, but sometimes he listened. The painting was priceless, but more importantly, it was Theo’s favorite thing ever. 

“You’re all done stupid, now let’s go to bed.” Boris pulled Theo out of the tub, mesmerized as the sand and dirt swirled down the drain. He handed him one of his shirts and some boxers. “Get changed, you’re not sleeping in my bed covered in soapy water.” 

“Mhm,” Theo muttered out as he started changing. 

Once he was done Boris helped him upstairs, where they both collapsed on the bed. Theo was out almost instantly, and Boris had to put the blanket over top of him. 

“Stupid bastard, you spilled vodka on my shirt!” Boris practically yelled as he changed out of his own shirt. He hadn’t even noticed it until he saw the stain. 

“Sorry,” Theo mumbled in response; apparently he hadn’t been asleep. 

Boris threw on a hoodie, one he’d stolen once when he visited Berlin. It was always too hot to wear in the desert, but sometimes he slept in it. 

He climbed into bed next to Theo, laying an arm over him before drifting off to sleep. 

It was only a few hours later when Theo started crying again in his sleep, remembering the museum and Welty and all of his trauma. 

“S’ ok, I got you,” Boris started while running a hand through his friend’s hair. “Shh now, back to sleep. I got you.” 

He wished he could tell him how he felt, that he loved him, but that required being sober, and Boris never wanted to feel sober again.

**Author's Note:**

> :)) I honestly don't know if this fandom is still alive but I'm posting this cause fuck it. Yolo amirite?


End file.
